


I Don't Care for Christmas

by chadleymacguff



Series: Seasonal Coat [2012] [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:30:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chadleymacguff/pseuds/chadleymacguff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is not a Christmas person and he will be the first to tell you so. He would rather skip the holiday entirely, it's just not his thing. Nope. No thanks. Move along. Derek Hale is not a fan of Christmas. Stiles, however, is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Care for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> part of a string of fics that I was attempting to write for the holidays. not all to happy with it but I had to set it free to the world. as always, thanks to my beta Reyne

Derek has never been one for cleaning. Not that he thought it was beneath him, he just wasn’t particularly good at it. Laura would always tell him that he missed a spot or that he did something wrong. Anytime she’d ask him to do the dishes or mop the floor it would usually end with him frustrated and Laura having to finish the job herself. That was something Derek missed most about her, the sibling squabbles. Maybe that was why he hadn’t attempted to clean up the house or at least that’s what he told himself. He didn’t mind, as long as it got his mind off this dumb holiday.

Somehow he let Peter talk him into cleaning out the basement. His reasoning was, if they were going to be staying there they should at least have a habitable place to sleep. It made sense. Derek just didn’t want to do it. He had no problem sleeping on top of things. The piles of dirt and debris didn’t bother him much but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew Peter was right. Which is why he was now picking up old family junk from years past and tossing them into empty boxes he’d swiped from behind some local store in town.

Climbing the stairs, he noticed a note tacked to the door.

Don’t forget to clean off the bookshelf in the den…or what’s left of it.

Derek groaned under his breath. He was hoping that this brief stint into seasonal cleaning would only take an hour or two but it was quickly turning into an all-day kind of task. He shrugged his shoulders shuffling his shoes against the wooden steps, the echo of every step reverberating off the remains of the empty house. Derek noticed a new set of boxes next to the door, undoubtedly left by Peter to accompany his note.

Part of their agreement of Derek cleaning out the basement was that Peter would sweep the main level. Derek couldn’t be too surprised that he hadn’t done it.

He stared at the numerous texts that lined the nearly undamaged bookshelf that lined the back wall. Derek remembers when his dad put it in. His mom was always complaining about books being on the floor in stacks that could just be knocked over, which they often did. Whenever he and Laura would play hide and seek one of them would knock a few over and run off.

Derek ran his fingers over the various editions of novels. His father had an affinity for the classics. He’d spend hours sitting in his chair reading his well-worn copy of Wuthering Heights. He could still smell the wood burning in the fireplace; the flicker of the flames dancing over his face, his warm smile as he told him to go back to bed.

The wind blew against the frame of the house, small gusts leaking in through the cracks in the wall. The cold air pricked the hairs on the back of his neck. Derek could hear the footsteps on the front porch before they even reached the door.

“What do you want Isaac?” Derek pulled a few books off the shelf and stacked them in the box.

Isaac was barely in the door. Derek’s presence had caught him off guard. “I, uh, I was looking for Peter. He wanted me to do something for him.”

“Well he’s not here.” He said, breezing past Isaac to get to the other side of the room. “Shouldn’t you be doing something with Scott? He seems like the holiday type.”

Isaac shrugged, surveying the room. “It’s not my thing, at least not anymore.”

Derek looked over his shoulder to Isaac kicking circles in dust and ash coating the room. “Well, you’re welcome to stay here if you want. It’s kind of, neutral territory when it comes to the holidays.”

“I can see that. I think I’m going to try and find Peter.” Before he had a chance to stop him Isaac was out the door in a flash.

Derek walked back over to the corner of the room to finish clearing the rest of the books when he heard the crunch of glass under his shoe. He stepped back to find a broken picture frame, something he hadn’t noticed before but still familiar. Derek shook the broken glass onto the floor, retrieving the photo of a young boy and his family that was inside.

“That was a good Christmas wasn’t it.”

Derek snapped his head to find Peter standing in the middle of the floor. He must have been so lost in thought he didn’t even hear him come in.

“Laura dropped the star and cracked it a little. We spent the whole night trying to glue it back together so no one would notice.” Derek slipped the photo into the front of one of his father’s books and tossed it into the box with the rest. “Isaac’s looking for you.”

“I saw him on my way in. You know that kid is awfully polite, very respectful to his elders.” Peter wiped a finger over the dust the covered the surface of the chase lounge in the corner before dropping onto it with a thud. “You know it’s filthy in here.”

“Well if you actually did what you said—“

“Anyway,” He interjected, “If you find your dad’s copy of Pride and Prejudice, set it aside for me.” Peter left before Derek could get in another word.

_Why does everyone just breeze in and out of here? And how did I let Peter talk me into cleaning while he goes out and does...whatever it is he does._

Derek huffed, his breath knocking off a layer of dust from the books in front of him.

_At least I have some alone time._

\--

Stiles is neat. He’s always been that way, even he was a kid. It was one of the things him and his dad never fought over. The only time his room is a mess is when he immerses himself in something. Much like when Scott told him about being bitten and his room was littered in books and print outs from the web, every inch was covered in wrapping paper.

It was somewhat therapeutic for him, making small packages for people. Wrapping presents was something that Stiles would do with his mother when she was still around. It was the one tradition he still had left to remember her.

Somewhere in his room Stiles could hear vibrating.

“Only because I have no idea where it is, it rings.” He tore through the room; paper flinging as he searched for his phone. “Maybe I should just let it go to voicema-HA! Found it!” Stiles rolled his eyes and hit the button to answer. “What do you want Scott?”

“Well Merry Christmas to you too.” Scott said flatly.

“I wanted to know if you were still coming over to make cookies. Mom got chocolate chips. We can even make gingerbread this time.”

“Tempting but I’ll have to pass.” He sighed.

“What?” Stiles winced at the exclamation from the receiver. “Come on dude. We do this every year. It’s like tradition or whatever.”

“Sorry I’m just going to have to miss it this year. I still have some presents to finish wrapping.”

“Fine. But come over when you’re done. Maybe I’ll still have some left over for you.” Scott laughed.

“I doubt it."

Stiles didn’t want to blow him off; he actually looked forward to this time of year because of their traditions. They started making cookies at Christmas a few years ago after Stiles’ mom had just passed. He was telling Scott about how much fun him and his dad would have sneaking the batter from his mom and decorating them in funny outfits when they were all done. Mrs. McCall must have overhead them cause next thing they knew they were making a massive mess and covering each other in flour.

He finished putting the final touches on the box in front of him, fastening a bow to the top. Stiles pushed the excess paper under his bed and grabbed his shoes, heading for the door.

\--

Stiles found Derek on the front steps of his house reading something. He couldn’t help trying to make out what it was from behind his steering wheel. It was kind of a surprise. He’d never seen Derek reading before. He hadn’t really seen Derek do too much of anything. The guy was a freaking puzzle wrapped in an enigma with bulging muscles. That part Stiles tried not to think about.

“What are you doing here Stiles?” Derek asked still engaged in his novel.

“Oh Wuthering Heights, I read that for class once. Good read. I guess.” Stiles was trying his best at humor to cut the tension. He could tell that it wasn’t working.

_Too much silence Stiles._

 “Right. Uh, I just came by to wish you Merry Christmas.” Stiles held his hands behind him, fidgeting with the small wrapped parcel.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “I appreciate the sentiment,” he said placing the photo between the pages to hold his place. “I’m actually not a Christmas—“

“What’s that in your book?” Stiles asked, tucking the gift in between his hoodie and shirt.

“What? My bookmark?”

“Yeah.”

He tugged the from between the pages looking at it fondly. “It’s one of the last pictures of me and my family. It’s from the Christmas before the fire.” Derek was hesitant, but passed the photo to Stiles.

“Wow, you look so…”

“Small? Yeah, I didn’t work out back the—“

“No, I was going to say happy.” Stiles couldn’t help but smile looking at the young boy, so happy and full of life. The Derek in front of him was a mere echo of the boy in the photograph.

“I was.” Derek sighed, reclining into the back of the steps.

“Are these your parents?”

“Next to me and Laura, yeah.”

Stiles hummed lightly. He was lost in the thought of Derek and his family happy together, opening presents, cooking family dinners, playing catch with his dad or in his case, going out for a run. It wasn’t until Derek cleared his throat that he remembered where he was. “Sorry.” He said handing back the picture.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here Stiles?”

“Oh right. I almost forgot why I came over here.” He tugged the gift free from the fabric on the back of his shirt. “I got you this.”

Derek looked over the box, shaking it slightly to hear what was inside.

“Open it. It’s not going to bite.”

Derek pulled at the ends of the brightly striped paper, trying to be as neat as possible until he got to the actual box.

“You seem like the late night coffee type.” Stiles scratched the back of his head. “Do you like it?”

“There’s a wolf on it.” Derek mumbled his eye brows knitted in confusion.

“Yeah, I thought you might like that.”

“It’s nice. Thanks Stiles.”

“Well, Merry Christmas.”

“Uh, you too.”

The two exchanged a few awkward moments of silence before Stiles finally caught a glimpse of the time and headed back to his jeep. Climbing inside he couldn’t help but smile to himself. Stiles turned the key and pulled onto the road, he couldn’t help but feel some sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t until he’d pulled onto Scott’s street that it dawned on him:

Does Derek even have a coffee maker?


End file.
